


Together

by seaweedredandbrown



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Can be read as either sexual or platonic queer relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ficlet, Fluff and Angst, M/M, One Shot, Panic Attacks, Post-Movie(s), Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:04:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7450579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaweedredandbrown/pseuds/seaweedredandbrown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They do not have a relationship - of any kind - and even if they did, it would not include standing wide awake at three in the morning in front of the other’s bedroom, wondering how best to soothe his anxiety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together

Hermann knows the rules.  
He is aware that he is about to break them.

Hermann knows the rules because in addition to deciding on most of their nature, he has always shown himself ready to enforce them - with a blow of his cane, if necessary.  
How queer that he’s the one who’d benefit from such a blow now.  
How queer, indeed.

Around him, the shatterdome sleeps. At last. After the partying, the mourning, the rebuilding and some more partying, LOCCENT is finally resting. This part is, at least; the corridor stands in its night-time dark red light. All is calm. The air smells of salt water and cold cigarettes. There is no sound, except the beating of his own heart and - what comes from behind the door.

Muffled sounds, panted breaths, sobbings; he can feel them, at the back of his mind, an icy fist clenched around a part of his soul that is still shared with Newton’s.

He doesn’t want this. Neither does Newton, he’s told him so.  
Hermann remembers it quite well - they were leaning against the guardrail, on the shatterdome roof, high above the black waves. Newton was talking - wasn’t he always? - and confirming some of the peculiarities Hermann had caught a glimpse of during the Drift. Regrets, remorses and feeling of inadequacy that the mathematician wished he could drown in the sea below. It had been a quiet night, among the rumours of the town below, the clashes of the waves and the song of the wind. They were sharing a cigarette - Newton’s fingers were cold when Hermann took it from him. It wasn’t as cold as the looming presence at the back of his mind, ever shifting and evolving, but always painful and forlorn. Such sadness that Hermann, through the haze of nicotine, had decided he could no longer bear.  
“I wish that I could show you, when you are in such darkness, the astonishing light of your own being.”  
It had been easier to say than expected, hadn’t it?  
Newton had snorted. Something about, “Did you read that on the internet? I knew getting you on tumblr was a bad idea.”  
Ah, banter. Banter was good. Banter was something they could do.  
“The words might not be mine, but they convey my feelings most accurately.”  
“Sorry, dude, feelings and you in the same sentence, my brain can't compute.”  


Their bond felt more welcoming - this was a familiar pattern, one that they could slip into easily.  
They were tired and battered, yet perhaps they could, as one might say, do this.

Silence fell between them for a little while. Hermann cast the burnt-out cigarette aside, wondering what move to make next.

There are rules, between them.  
Hermann knows them all, and he knows them well.  
The obvious, explicit ones: the yellow demarcation of the lab, the proper way to address each other in the presence of strangers…  
There are also the tacit, silent ones: no touching, if it can be helped. No prying, no questions asked.  
And then, there’s the golden rule - the one learnt from a lifetime of loneliness, humiliation and rebuttal: do not get involved. Admire the dazzling intellect and the golden-green eyes from afar, but do not, under no circumstances, get close enough to distinguish the specks of gold among the emerald. 

Ignorance is bliss, isn’t it?

But the sea looks more blissful still, shining under the Hong Kong moon or covered in ice deep in his soul. Threading through such peaceful water, he could - he might just -

“Have you not seen them?" Asked Hermann softly. "My... feelings. During the drift?"  
"Man, I saw a bunch I'm sure you didn't want me to see, I mean, I can't believe that your dad is even more of an asshole than I originally thought, and I'm sorry you got to see me being all cool and popular at MIT, I understand how it could have hurt your ego to be proven that I can actually do real science, but such is life, and that one time..."  
Newton seemed ready for one of his infamous monologues; Hermann opened his mouth to interrupt him, but the biologist beat him to it, with what he probably meant as an understanding smile.  
“Look, dude, it’s cool. I'd understand if you don't ever want that to happen again.”

Thunder struck under Hermann’s skull - the sea opened wide, receding from the ice; no more bond, no more feelings.

No more feelings.

“I see.” Hermann remembers answering. “It is good that we are, finally, seeing eye to eye.” His voice sounded distant, even to his own ears. “It is late. I shall now retreat to my quarters.” He stood up, refusing to surrender to the overwhelming numbness, and took his leave as politely as he could.

Newton didn’t want that to ever happen again - what else was there to do, but to dissociate their entangled psyches?

Then, they had tried to sever the link - first a MRI, then a seizure-inducing experimental Neural Handshake that refused to turn into another Drift - yet here they were, the sea and the ice, still connected. Bonded. Merged.  
They face everything together: the ecstasy of victory, the frustration of red tape and paperwork, the dazzling manic phases, the lows of panic attacks. Hermann lives through Newton’s turbulent emotional cycle, and he imagines Newton has a taste of his, too; of the chronic pain and the debilitating sleep deprivation, the vexation of his father’s persistent influence on the state of the world and the bleakness of his future prospects.

Going back to teaching sounds… dull and tedious, after all this.

Is this thought his, or is it Newton’s?  
No idea.

Not that they’ve talked much about it.  
They know the rules.

Yet he stands there, in the desert corridor, one hand on his cane, the other on the handle, hesitant, perplexed.  
What good could it do to open that door?

This - this isn’t - they are lab partners. Reluctant lab partners. Who hate each other, to the bitter end.

Scientists. Professionals. Rockstars.  
This is what there are.  
Nothing less. Nothing more.  
They do not have a relationship - of any kind - and even if they did, it would not include standing wide awake at three in the morning in front of the other’s bedroom, wondering how best to soothe his anxiety.

Yet he cannot ignore it for much longer - Newton’s pain is his, after all, and no matter how good he has become at tuning down suffering and vexation over the years, this one is heartbreaking. He can feel the choke burning down his throat, the cold sweat drops on his back, the ache for air in his lungs. His heart is beating like a drum in his ears, trying to tear through his ribcage.  
None of those are truly his, and if he checks, he can breathe just fine, his back is dry, his breathing steady and his heartbeat normal. None of those are his, but that doesn’t make them any less real.

Through the heavy metal door, Hermann can hear Newton’s breath accelerating, reaching that hyperventilating stage where the world goes red and black.

He can feel the terror and the pain - he can feel the hands pulling his hair and the palms firmly placed against his eyes.

He can feel the shame and the guilt. Alpha, Typhoon, all those deaths, all his fault, all his fault, because he wanted to prove that he was right, and when was he ever right, he is just, he such a, he is -  
Surrounded, outnumbered, overwhelmed.  
Fluorescent blue tongues in the dark Hong Kong night.  
The click of golden shoes on marble floor.  
The very primal, very physical sensation that he is dying.  
He can’t breath, he can’t breath, he can’t -

Hermann lets go of the handle and knocks two gentle times.

No answer. The door is too thick for him to hear the bed sheets being pushed away, the shaky footsteps on the cold metal floor. (He can’t hear them, but he can feel the cold on his soles and shivers.)  
The door creaks open and Newton appears, hanging on the doorframe. Hermann expected him to look awful, but this - the hair is greasier, messier than usual; the eyes are reddened, the skin pale and the limbs trembling. There are scratch marks among the colourful scales on his arms and his nails have been bitten to blood.

“... Dude?”  
‘Dude’ is Newton’s cornerstone for communication. Over the years, Hermann has learnt that it could mean everything, from ‘this is the best day of my life’ to ‘how dare you?’ and ‘I may or may not have lost some precious Kaiju samples on the wrong side of the lab.’  
Tonight, Newton’s voice is soft, barely a hoarse whisper. Something he hadn’t heard before.

Hermann knows the rules.  
They don’t mention anything about this.  
They don’t need to.

Hermann steps forwards. He opens his arms wide, and only closes them softly when Newton pours himself into his embrace, tugging at the back of his blazer and hiding his face in the creased folds of his shirt.  
They stand here - they try to stand; Hermann holds still, leaning heavily on his cane while Newton cries, loud sobs that evolve into harsh, panting breaths and back to sobbing again. Hermann pats his neck, he rubs his back, lips brushing past the messy curls to kiss his sweaty forehead.  
He waits until the ice recedes at the back of his mind; it’s still cold and bitter, but so is the corridor at night (and people could see them, but he quite contently realises that he does not care anymore).

Newton must have felt it, too - his breath is far from steady, but his grip feels a bit softer. His pupils have retracted to a somewhat normal diameter and he has stopped shivering. He pulls himself against Hermann one last time, before letting go. He gulps, takes a short breath, looks upward; he still looks like a mess, Hermann thinks.

“Shall we get you back to bed, dear?”

The words feel soft and gentle on his tongue; he doesn’t want to imagine their obvious implications. There will be time for talking about this, the night terrors and the effects of physical proximity on drift-induced psychological trauma - later, maybe tomorrow. Maybe next year.  
They don’t even need to talk.  
They’ve always done without.

Newton nods and steps back into his room, sheepish, childish, disoriented. He sits on the edge of the bed while Hermann comes in, lays his cane against the wall and neatly folds his jacket on the nearest plane surface available. The room smells stale, something like sweat, old socks and lukewarm beer.  
Newton is quiet until Hermann sits next to him, and then he tries to speak; his face falls, his breath quickens - these things always have a second wind - and something soars in Hermann’s chest, some powerful emotion that grips his heart and prompts him to reach up to Newton instead, slinging an arm around his neck and pulling him close to him, until his head is leaning against the rough knits of his sweater vest, his face buried against his collarbone. 

The ice at the back of Hermann’s mind is cracking, fracturing; the water beneath is dripping through. The sea roars and surges. It clashes against the frost, it forces its way, until Hermann makes a conscious decision to push it forward, to reach through the Drift. He crosses the white and blue memories of - fear, anger, helplessness, the foul smell of Kaiju samples - and it doesn’t stops, it never stops - now the snapping of a chalk against the blackboard, the laugh of a hundred bullies, the soft stationery paper under his fingers, the sting of the needle - and, beneath the emotions, beneath the memories, onto the feelings.  
Rage.  
_You are the most infuriating man_ -  
Defiance.  
_In which case, ahah, I won_ -  
Care.  
_You would do that for me_ -  
Love.  
_Worldwide destruction as a certain alternative_ \- because I will not recover from losing you to this madness.  


The ice shatters among the waves; it reforms along their new shapes, it welcomes them - and the tempest dies down.  
They’ve been such fools.  
Such complete, utter fools.  
Standing among the quiet sea, sitting in the cramped bedroom, it doesn’t matter.  
There are here, bonded, connected. Together.

Newton’s hands curl into his clothes, Hermann strengthens his grip on his neck.  
Sometimes, there are good tears to be shed.

Later, when their cheeks have dried and they’re laying down in the darkness, the two of them, on the small, sagging, scrunching but not completely uncomfortable bed - later, Hermann will think of the rules again, as he listens to Newton’s soft snores in the almost silence.

The rules are simple, and the rules work.  
They work because he’s the one who made them; because he’s always right. He’s always right because he derives his knowledge from facts, figures, the cold certainty of mathematics.  
There’s nothing cold or certain about all this.  
Newton’s arm is spread over his hip and back. His leg is lost somewhere between Hermann’s, at just the right angle for him to use as a prop for his bad knee. He can feel his breathing on his neck - he’d thought he’d hate it, but there is solace in comfort and warmth, after all. Even the sweaty, messy curls tickling his face are not so bad, once he found a way to keep them out of his mouth.

The icy sea is retreating at the back of his mind.  
It merges into reassurance and the mellow lull of sleepiness, reminding him that he was right.

There is only one way to do this, and that is together.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading!  
> This was my very first Newmann ficlet and a lot of fun to write. I hope you've enjoyed it!  
> It was betaread by Jude ([@guiltyphandiot](http://guiltyphandiot.tumblr.com/)) and edited by Rhys ([@rhys-rhetorical](http://rhys-rhetorical.tumblr.com/)) - thank you so much for your hard work, it wouldn't have been half as good without your help!
> 
> Hermann's beautiful quote does come from the internet and I did find it on tumblr: [@wordsthat-speak](http://wordsthat-speak.tumblr.com/post/19356628822/i-wish-i-could-show-you-when-you-are-lonely-or-in)
> 
> Feel free to leave comments and/or kudos. You can also connect with me on [tumblr](http://seaweedredandbrown.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
